


愛 ~ like a tattoo on the heart

by tatoeba



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Writing on the Body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2018-10-18 02:33:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10607487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatoeba/pseuds/tatoeba
Summary: The gentle brush of Yixing’s fingertips flow like that of a paintbrush along his skin, and imprint deep into Wu Fan's heart.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the “writing on the body” square for kink_bingo. Or it started out that way and turned into this...thing. I’ve been trying to write this since like the beginning of July so like most of the stuff that goes on in this is so like outdated lol. BUT W/E. This is kinda my EXO-fic baby so I hope you enjoy it if you read. ;_; <3

  
Yifan always sees Yixing doodling on something, corners of newspapers, on the backs of their schedules, in his notebook of lyrics and music that he’s been composing. It just seems like he needs to do something with his hands and it doesn't matter what it is he creates, as long as he's doing it. There are times when he really concentrates and draws fun little caricatures, smiling to himself as the pen bleeds dark colors onto the paper.

Yifan, catching sight of him from across the room, will smile then, too.

Sometimes, when they're sitting side by side on a plane ride to Korea or on the bus to and from the hotel, Yixing will take Yifan's hand and trace silly patterns into his palm. Yifan pretends not to be interested, just keeps his expression cool and lets Yixing draw out flowers or rabbit faces or words in English, Chinese, and Korean. He doesn’t say anything because he thinks it’ll make him stop, and for reasons Yifan doesn’t understand, he doesn’t want him to. So instead he stares out the window or simply closes his eyes, and tries to figure out whatever Yixing is drawing this time.

Sometimes, Yixing presses a heart into his skin, fingernail scratching almost painfully that Yifan can feel the impression long after he’s moved away. But his wrist feels hot from where Yixing had held onto him as he drew, and his palm, and the burning heart, continues to tingle from Yixing’s touch like he’s just been branded.

Yifan tries not to think of how he doesn’t mind the sound of that.

* * *

They pile into the van after filming for China Big Love Concert, and Yifan takes a seat in the front by the window and stares out of it. Yixing comes and sits beside him, arm brushing up against Yifan's right shoulder.

“Yixing is the best at drawing,” Lu Han’s saying, sitting behind Yixing and peering over the top of the seat. “How do you do it? You’re good at everything.”

Yixing laughs. “It wasn’t even that good,” he protests.

“It was better than Yifan's,” Jongdae feels the need to point out and he and Lu Han share laughs, clearly remembering Yifan's attempt at drawing during the show.

Yifan just rolls his eyes. “The MC mistook your crocodile for a _turtle_ , so I don’t think you can really talk, Lu Han,” Yifan replies easily, smirking when that shuts Lu Han up pretty quickly.

He pouts instead and Minseok pats his shoulder consolingly. “We were all pretty awful,” Minseok says kindly. “Zitao was the worst, though.”

Zitao just shrugs like he doesn’t really care, leaning against Jongdae and closing his eyes. Lu Han pokes Yixing in the back of the head and adds, “Which is why I’m saying that Yixing is the best.”

“It’s just drawing,” Yixing says, shrugging, and Yifan's arm burns with heat from the movement.

“Teach us how to draw,” Lu Han says, poking again.

“No, thanks,” Yixing laughs, “I’ve got to keep my talents for myself.” He glances over at Yifan and grins, and Yifan ignores the strange knotting in his stomach.

“Oh come on, you have enough talents,” Lu Han presses.

“No way,” Yixing says happily and Jongdae chimes in, “Lu Han’s just annoyed no one could recognize his crocodile.”

“Well, it _did_ look like a turtle,” Zitao adds, eyes still closed, and Lu Han swivels around in his seat to bicker with them.

Yifan shakes his head and looks over at Yixing, who is smiling in amusement as he pulls out his ipod and unravels his purple headphones. “Why don’t you want to teach them?” he asks after a moment and Yixing looks up at him, stares contemplatively, and then shrugs again. He looks away and Yifan lets out a breath.

“It’s more fun this way,” he answers.

Yifan snorts. “You just want to make us all look bad, don’t you?” he accuses, and Yixing turns back to him with wide, innocent eyes, pointing at himself and mouthing, _Who, me?_ Shaking his head, Yifan looks back out the window and jumps when a few moments later, Yixing grabs his hand and, once again, starts tracing his finger in patterns on his palm.

Yifan swallows thickly and stares down at their hands, at Yixing’s smaller fingers soft and warm in his own.

“It’s just drawing,” Yixing says after a stretch of silence - or, well, silence in Yifan's ears, because the others are being loud as usual, but all Yifan can focus on is Yixing so he doesn’t even hear it. “It doesn’t matter if you can’t draw. Besides, I thought duizhang’s crocodile was kind of...cute.”

Yifan laughs, but it comes out a little strangled because suddenly his heart is pounding in his chest and his whole body feels too warm. He can barely form the words he wants to say, too distracted by Yixing’s gentle touch, the way he’s flipped his hand over and is drawing onto the back of his hand, and up slowly along his arm. “Cute?” he repeats, disbelieving. Yifan knows he can’t draw, and what he drew during the show was more or less abysmal. “Really?”

Yixing chuckles, and his breath ghosts along Yifan's neck where he’s leaned in closer to be able to draw more easier. “Yes,” Yixing says, “cute like duizhang.” He snickers.

“Don’t call me cute,” Yifan says, meaning to come out stern but instead sounding like a whine. It makes Yixing laugh again, though, and Yifan likes that, likes the sound of that, so he just lets it slide, turning back to stare out of the window and enjoying the way Yixing continues to use his arm as his own personal canvas.

* * *

Things have been exceptionally busy these days that a moment, no matter how short, of peace and quiet is like a blessing. It’s hard to come by, though, in a group of six - occasionally twelve - boys who, most of the time, don’t seem to grasp the actual concept of “peace and quiet.”

There are times though when everyone seems to be feeling the exhaustion at once, when they hide in their rooms instead of going out or making a mess of the dorm. Yifan likes that, likes laying on the couch with his eyes closed and not having to worry about getting to the next show or photo shoot or interview on time, on making sure everyone is dressed properly and knows the dance routine and what things to say or not to say.

Right now he can shut his brain off for awhile and just rest and that's something precious. He knew it was going to be like this, but no one really mentions just how important these tiny moments really are.

He’s on that edge between consciousness and slumber when he feels fingers glide almighty his arm and then his legs being lifted slightly before the end of the couch dips with added weight.  
He knows its Yixing without having to open his eyes, mostly because no one else would really dare to disturb him like that. Other than maybe Lu Han who would much rather bang pans together or pour cold water on Yifan's head to wake him up instead of gently stealing half the couch and letting his fingers slowly flit along Yifan's kneecaps and down his leg, light and almost absentminded touches like he’s unaware of doing it.

No, there’s really only one person who’d do _that_.

Yifan knows Yixing doesn’t mean to disturb him so he ignores him as best he can for awhile, letting his mind wander the way Yixing’s fingers do along his jeans. He starts tapping softly against his leg, like it’s an imaginary keyboard, and Yifan wonders what he’s thinking about. He always wonders what Yixing thinks about when he does this, but he’s never really been brave enough to ask.

He sighs, shifting just a bit to get more comfortable and Yixing’s touch stops almost immediately, Yifan can feel him drawing his hand away. He opens his eyes and Yixing is sitting at the end of the couch in a white tank and old sweatpants, Yifan's legs draped over his lap and a book in one hand.

“Oh, sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t sound sorry at all. He’s staring at a page in his book and not at Yifan, but Yifan doesn’t think he’s really reading. “Did I wake you?”

Yifan shakes his head. He stares at Yixing, face half hidden by his book, then drops his gaze to where his fingers are just barely resting above his knee, like he’s afraid to touch again though that makes no sense to Yifan. He shifts again, purposely nudges Yixing’s hand with his knee, and says quietly, “Feels nice.”

Yixing looks over but Yifan can’t read his expression, that is until he smiles brightly at him and his touch returns, and it really does feel nice.

“Sleep, Yifan,” Yixing says, voice as soothing as his caress, and Yifan closes his eyes and does while the gentle brushes of Yixing’s fingertips flow like that of a paintbrush along his skin, and imprint deep into Yifan's heart.

* * *

Even though its been three months now, there are some moments when the nervousness hits Yifan like that first time they performed for the Korea showcase. But he's supposed to be the leader. He should, more than the others, out on a cool expression and be able to walk out on stage and do everything that's expected of him without letting his unease shine through.

And he's done a good job of that Yifan thinks.

Yixing, however, reads Yifan like he's an open book, like all his worries and concerns and thoughts are painted on his forehead. Yifan hates that he can do that sometimes because despite having known yixing for four years, Yifan can't ever seem to tell what he's thinking himself.

It drives him nuts, to say the least.

"You okay?" Yixing asks, sliding up to Yifan backstage before another performance. His body feels warm where it presses against Yifan's side.

“I’m fine,” Yifan answers automatically, but he knows Yixing sees right through him.

“We’ve been doing this for months now, how’re you still nervous?” Yixing says, slightly teasing as he nudges Yifan with his elbow.

“Shut up, there’s nothing wrong with being a little nervous,” Yifan replies, but somehow, already, he’s starting to feel better.

Yixing laughs softly. “Calm down, duizhang,” he says, “you’ll be fine,” and before Yifan can respond, he takes his hand and holds it palm up, and presses his index finger in slow lines along the skin. Yifan's mouth runs dry and everything he’d thought to say vanishes from his mind. Instead he stares at Yixing writing what he manages to make out as _good luck_ into his palm, before he intertwines his fingers with Yifan's and squeezes.

“Good luck,” Yixing whispers into Yifan's ear then, mimicking the words he just traced onto his hand. He smiles at Yifan warmly and lets go, moves over to where Jongdae and Zitao are talking quietly, and Yifan wants nothing more than to reach out and pull him back, to hold his hand and never left that warmth disappear.

Later, long after the show that day, after meetings with their manager and going over their schedule for the tomorrow, when Yifan is finally sinking into bed and listening to Jongdae murmuring into sleep on the other side of the room, he can still feel the way Yixing’s fingers clasped his own.

* * *

Yifan likes photoshoots. He knows he’s not on par with the others when it comes to dancing and singing and although he loves the thrill of performing, photoshoots are much different and, most of time, much easier. Yixing likes to say it’s because Yifan gets to simply act cool in front of the camera without the added distraction of fans screaming and shrieking, and Yifan will never admit that Yixing is right, in a way. Posing for the camera is about the best thing Yifan can do, though he still completely denies that he’s trying to _act cool_ in any way. He’s just doing his job.

Today, their photoshoot is pulling the face-painting concept from the MAMA music video and recreating it in a way that Yifan thinks is incredibly disastrous. They’re letting each other draw on their faces, and Yifan is certain that there’s no way this can possibly end well. The others don't seem as concerned, however, grabbing the face paints and markers excitedly and pairing off.

Somehow, as Yifan’s luck would have it, Yixing wanders up to him with paints in his hands and a familiar look on his face. It’s the kind Yifan had seen after he’d Junmyeon’s kimbap with wasabi or put glue in Jongdae’s shampoo. It’s not the kind of look Yifan wants to see while working, ever.

“Looks like duizhang is with me,” Yixing says, smiling so his dimple shows.

“I’m not sure if I should be glad or not,” Yifan says, glancing over at the others who seem to be having too much fun drawing stupid things onto each other’s faces.

“Definitely glad,” Yixing says, and he pushes at Yifan’s shoulder until he sits down in one of the makeup chairs. “I’m the one who can draw in this group, remember?”

He does have a point, Yifan admits, but he also knows Yixing better than that. “Doesn’t mean you won’t end up drawing something incriminating on my face anyway.”

Yixing laughs. “Relax, Yifan,” he says, his voice soft and airy, tickling Yifan’s chin as he leans forward, “I’ll be nice to you.” He smirks, and Yifan doesn’t feel comforted at all.

But he resigns himself to Yixing anyway, offering his friend a nod. Yixing beams and fiddles around with the paints for awhile before choosing a bright red color. He studies Yifan’s then, and the brightness of his eyes settles into deep concentration, the way he looks whenever he’s on stage performing and dancing. Focused. It makes Yifan swallow thickly, because he’s never seen that look so closely before, and his heart rate picks up its pace.

Yifan almost jumps when Yixing pushes up on his chin, and Yixing chuckles again. “I said, relax,” he repeats, and Yifan thinks Yixing is asking for a miracle, here, because relaxing seems absolutely impossible for Yifan right now.

He tries, though, curling his hands into fists at his sides, and focusing on a spot just above Yixing’s shoulder. The first touch of the cool paint on his skin makes him jolt again, but not nearly as much as the heat he feels from Yixing’s fingers holding his jaw steady. He can feel his gaze burning onto him, too, but he doesn’t dare look because he knows he won’t be able to look away if it does.

It’s like every other time Yixing has taken his hand and traced silly things into his palm, except at the same time it’s not. It’s about a hundred times more dangerous. Because right now, they are far, far too close, and Yifan shudders at every tickling breath, every white-hot touch, and every quiet humming sound that Yixing makes.

Yixing is careful, too, as he draws. Determined strokes of the tiny brush, hand steady as he makes Yifan with red and then black and then a shining silver. Yifan can’t tell what he’s drawing, but that’s probably due to the fact that he can’t quite think straight anyway, senses overpowered by their close proximity and the way he can smell the citrusy scent of Yixing’s shampoo.

“Hey,” Yixing says, “tilt your head a bit to the left,” and Yifan does. He makes the mistake of looking at Yixing then, eyes darting to the side, and his breath catches in his throat when their gazes meet. Yixing stares at him with that same concentrated look Yifan had seen earlier, except there’s an intensity there that makes Yifan want to curl away. It’s worse, this feeling, than the other day when Yixing’s light laughter made his heart burn, and it’s worse than every other time they’ve ever looked at each other, because Yifan was right - he can’t look away.

He doesn’t _want_ to look away. It’s a thought that confuses him even more.

“Yifan,” Yixing says quietly, his name falling from his lips like an exhale, so soft that if Yifan hadn’t already been paying so close attention him he would surely have missed it. It makes Yifan’s heart beat about ten times faster, gaze dropping instinctively to Yixing’s mouth and Yifan is close enough to just lean forward, just a little, and kiss him--

The moment, whatever it is, is broken by the sudden cry of the photographer, asking them to finish up so they can get started and the tiny world that had just been occupied by him and Yixing seems to shatter, pieces falling to the floor around their feet as reality comes crashing back. Yifan pulls back first, becoming suddenly fixated with the fabric of his blazer, rubbing at the hem with his fingertips.

He hears Yixing let out a sigh, and he glances over to see him not looking at Yifan at all and instead fiddling with the paints. Yifan instinctively reaches out to touch his wrist and Yixing jumps away like Yifan had struck him.

It’s a reaction Yifan has never, ever gotten from Yixing before, and there’s a squeezing pain in his chest that he doesn’t quite understand.

“Sorry,” Yixing says, and he still won’t look at Yifan. He starts to gather up the paints in his hands and Yifan stares at him with confusion.

“Where are you going? Don’t you need me to do your face?”

“I’ll ask Lu Han,” Yixing says and the pain in Yifan’s chest grows worse. He feels a bit like he can’t breathe, and all he can do is watch as Yixing leaves, quickly pulling Lu Han aside to help him get ready. Lu Han throws a look over at Yifan, who turns away and ignores it. He slides off the chair, and heads to one of the mirrors to examine Yixing’s work.

He’s surprised by the design painted across his face, stark black lines against pale skin, almost forming what seems to be a star around his left eye. The pattern continues down the side of his face, bright red circles and silver dots, and it looks, well. It looks incredible.

“Figures that Yixing would make you look awesome,” Jongdae says, surprising Yifan as he appears beside him in the mirror. He looks pretty distraught with the terrible swirly patterns that have been made on his own face.

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Yifan questions quickly, turning to him, but Jongdae smiles mysteriously and pats his shoulder.

“Come on, leader, we have work,” he replies, looking amused, and walks off toward the set.

Yifan follows after, eyes searching for Yixing who is talking happily to Zitao and Minseok on set. Zitao has a small panda painted onto his cheek, while Minseok seems to have been unfortunate enough to have Lu Han draw on his face, if the horrendous creation of a dumpling is any indication. Lu Han apparently spared Yixing the same treatment, because he simply has a creative zigzagging pattern in greens and purples across his face and Yifan thinks he looks amazing.

He tries not to dwell too much on that thought.

He joins the others on the set, just a simple white backdrop that contrasts against their dark outfits and ridiculous face painting, standing in the back beside Lu Han who looks at him inquisitively. With the girly flowers that have been painted onto his face, though, Yifan thinks he merely looks like a grade schooler who had gotten his hands into finger paint, and he tries not to laugh.

“You look nice,” Lu Han says, and his implication is not lost on Yifan.

“Shut up,” he grumbles and Lu Han smirks, but thankfully leaves him alone.

Yifan feels incredibly disoriented for the rest of that shoot, his mind focused on Yixing, eyes darting to wherever he is and hating the uneasiness that has settled in his belly. Yixing won’t look at him, and continues to keep his distance, and even when the photographer has them standing beside each other, he doesn’t make any effort to engage in any contact or conversation.

And all Yifan can think of is the way he’d felt when Yixing had slowly and carefully drawn lines on his face, the heavy heat of his gaze on him then, and how he wanted to kiss him.

How he _still_ wants to kiss him.

Yifan, he realizes with a sinking heart, is doomed.

* * *

Yifan discovers after a few days that avoiding Yixing is difficult. Not because it’s impossible, no, because it seems as though Yixing is sort of avoiding him, too. Instead, Yifan comes to realize that he’s so used to having Yixing around that even when he’s decided to create even the slightest distance, in the end, he still craves to have him back.

It’s a quiet evening, the kind that Yifan usually enjoys, but tonight he feels restless. Jongdae and Minseok sit at the kitchen table, looking over books of Mandarin and quizzing each other on pronunciation. Zitao chimes in every few moments, from where he’s sprawled on the living room floor and doing stretches. Lu Han sits in the couch across from Yifan, laptop on his lap and snickering as he types. Yifan doesn’t even want to know what he’s up to. He knows Yixing is out on the balcony; he’d walked out earlier with his guitar and when he does, they usually let him be. Yifan, despite trying desperately to put some space between them, watched him leave, and he watches now, too, just barely making out his form from the couch.

“You should go talk to him,” Lu Han says suddenly, and Yifan drags his gaze from the glass separating himself and Yixing over to him. “You clearly want to.”

“You have no idea what I want,” Yifan says. Yifan has no idea what he wants. Except that’s a lie. He does know what he wants. Or, he thinks he does. It haunts him, those thoughts, and it’s been haunting him ever since they first crept up into his mind during the photoshoot the other day. He can’t shake the thought, or the way he had felt in that moment, and not knowing what to do about it actually terrifies him.

Yifan doesn’t like not knowing.

Lu Han just smiles deviously, and the way his eyes shine makes Yifan uncomfortable. “I know more than you think,” he replies and Yifan wouldn’t be surprised, really, if he did. “You’re being stupid, you know.”

Yifan frowns. “Don’t talk to your leader like that,” he says and Lu Han laughs before returning to whatever evil thing he’s doing on his computer, leaving Yifan feeling even more confused about his life than he did before.

It takes him a few minutes to gather up the courage, but he climbs off the couch and heads to the balcony. The sliding door is open just a bit at the end and he can hear Yixing’s voice, singing quietly a popular song from when they were kids. Yifan carefully eases open the door and steps outside, the summer night air feels instantly hot and sticky. He shuts the door behind him completely, because he wouldn’t put it past Lu Han to come eavesdrop.

Yixing doesn’t seem to have noticed his presence, and Yifan stands by the door for awhile longer, listening as Yixing finishes his song, his voice carried off by the wind. He walks toward him, then, and unwittingly reaches out to slowly touch the nape of Yixing’s neck. Yixing jumps instantly, looking over his shoulder with eyes wide in surprise, but a smile pulls at his lips when he realizes it’s Yifan.

“You scared me,” he says but he’s laughing, his dimple visible.

Yifan smiles, tries not to think too much about the way Yixing leans into his hand that still rests at his neck. His fingers brush against the short hairs there, absently rubbing circles with his thumb. “I’m supposed to be the scary dragon leader, right?” Yifan says, and he’s surprised at how easily they fall right back into place, because he knows he’s done a terrible job of hiding the fact that he’s been avoiding Yixing, and right now, it seems like Yixing doesn’t even care that he had. “Just doing my job.”

Yixing laughs harder. “You’re not scary to me,” he replies softly, and when Yifan looks down and meet his eyes, Yixing’s seem brighter than the starry night sky. Yifan swallows thickly, pulls his hand away and moves over to the railing of the balcony. “What’re you doing out here?” Yixing says and Yifan doesn’t miss the way his voice sounds a little strangled, the way he’d probably sound, too, if he tried to speak right now.

Instead he shrugs, tries to calm the rapid beating of his heart, and says after a long moment, “Am I bugging you?” He turns around, leans carefully back against the railing so he can look at Yixing sitting on the chair with his guitar on his lap, and take in the way the moonlight seems to caress his face.

Yixing shakes his head, and Yifan says, “Then play.” He nods at the guitar. Yixing looks at him, for what feels like an eternity, but smiles again, and does, and Yifan stands there and watches, listens to Yixing’s soft voice and the gentle strums of the guitar, and tries desperately to cling onto the edge of the earth as it feels like he’s starting to fall.

* * *

“I think I’m going insane,” Yifan admits solemnly from where he’s taken over Baekhyun’s bed in the EXO-K dorm. They’ve only just come back to Korea for the 100 Days Event and Yifan had spent a plane ride sitting beside Minseok and Tao, glancing at Yixing from across the aisle who seemed perfectly at ease discussing stupid, probably disastrous things with Lu Han. He hates how he spent most of the ride feeling miserable and confused, because perhaps, he’s gotten too used to sitting beside Yixing and letting him trail his fingers in silly, obscure patterns on his hand.

Chanyeol looks up from the magazine he’s been flipping through for the past twenty minutes. Yifan doesn’t think he’s actually read anything, except look at all the pictures and make dumb comments. “Is this about Yixing?” he says after a moment of scrutinizing Yifan, his face contorted into some strange expression. He looks back down at his magazine as Yifan feels his stomach fall straight to his knees.

“What do you know about what’s going on with me and Yixing?” Yifan questions, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as panicky to Chanyeol as it does to himself.

“ _Is_ there something going on with you and Yixing?” Chanyeol says, and he sounds like he doesn’t care one bit about this conversation, eyes still focused on his magazine, but Yifan knows Chanyeol’s secretly ecstatic because he’ll be able to hold this over Yifan’s head for ages. Yifan doesn’t know why he even opened his mouth.

“No,” he answers, defiantly, and Chanyeol looks back up.

“That totally means something is,” he says gleefully.

Yifan eyes him critically and accuses, “You know more than you’re letting on.” Chanyeol looks innocently skyward and Yifan groans, “Who told you?” but he’s positive he already knows the answer.

“Lu Han told Sehun who told Baekhyun who told me,” Chanyeol says, clearly uncaring about letting out the secret, and Yifan really really hates his life. “But that’s not important.”

“Yes, it is, I’m plotting your murders as we speak,” Yifan says but Chanyeol just laughs.

“You’ll be left with a pretty pathetic group, then.”

“Your group would be losing three members while we’d just lose Lu Han,” Yifan says, “and that’s not a big deal.”

Chanyeol snorts. “I’ll be sure to tell him you said that.” Then he swats at Yifan’s knee from where he’s been lying on his stomach on the floor and says, “Now stop changing the subject.”

“I’m not,” Yifan says, but it comes out as a pitiful whine and he wants to kill himself. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You’re the one who brought it up! You said you were going insane, remember? What’s Yixing doing that’s making you so crazy? Or, crazier than usual, anyway.”

Yifan just ignores him, sighing and staring up at the ceiling because, he knows the answer. It’s not Yixing that’s driving him insane, it’s himself. It’s the way he feels around him, it’s the way he feels when he’s _not_ around him, it’s these things he probably isn’t even supposed to feel but he can’t suppress them because trying to only makes him even more miserable.

He closes his eyes and remembers the way Yixing had leaned against him earlier at the airport while waiting for their car, sliding an arm around Yifan’s waist and letting the soft pads of his fingertips glide along the skin just beneath the hem of his shirt. Even now he can feel it, the heat of Yixing’s touch, long after he’d moved away and pretended like nothing had happened, getting into the car and sitting again by Lu Han and leaving Yifan wondering if he’d just imagined all of it.

It’s not Yixing who is making him crazy. It’s Yifan, and it’s all the strange feelings he doesn’t know what to do with.

* * *

Yixing sits beside him on the plane to Thailand, and Yifan, who is still uncertain of everything in his life when it comes to Yixing, finds it both comfortable and nerve-wracking. He tries to hide the latter from Yixing as best he can, though he knows there's no reason, when Yixing can tell what he's feeling better than he can, most of the time.

If Yixing notices his unease, he doesn't say anything, which, at least, makes Yifan glad. They've been on planes many, many times in the past few months since debut, but Yifan has never been a fan of it, cramped up in too-small places, long legs that don't quite fit anywhere. Yixing, though, makes him forget all about that as he sticks a earbud into his right ear, and the other end of the purple cord into Yifan's left. He's listening to EXO-K’s MAMA and it makes Yifan smile, and his heart jump, when Yixing rests his head on Yifan's shoulder and closes his eyes.

Yifan should be used to this sort of thing, he really really should. Because Yixing does it all the time. But, it's different, now. Somehow. It usually doesn't make his heart race so fast it's as if he's just run a marathon. He hopes that Yixing can't hear it.

Yifan usually sleeps on plane rides, it’s the only time he can catch some peace and quiet during the day. And after seeing their schedule in Thailand he knows he’ll need as much rest as possible.

It’s difficult to sleep though when his mind won’t turn off, when he can’t help but focus on the warm press of Yixing’s shoulder against his arm, or try not to think too deeply about how much he’s missed the soft touch of Yixing’s fingers as he takes his hand in his again and traces the lines across his palm.

“Why do you always do that?” Yifan asks suddenly, without thinking.

Yixing drops his hand like he’s been burned and Yifan instantly wants to take his words back. “Oh, sorry,” he says, “does it bug you?”

Yifan quickly shakes his head. “No, it’s fine,” he replies. “I was just asking.”

He hides his sigh of relief when Yixing takes his hand again, starts to trace the letters for EXO into his palm. “You never have before,” Yixing says. “I figured you didn’t care.”

“I don’t,” Yifan replies, except he does, he totally does, and as his skin tingles from Yixing’s touch, he knows he cares more than he could ever possibly admit.

“Then why did you decide to ask about it now?” Yixing looks up at him curiously, eyes bright under his bangs.

Yifan doesn’t dare to look at him, though, and instead focuses on Yixing’s smaller fingers tracing his own name into Yifan’s palm. He shrugs after a moment, and Yixing laughs.

“You’re weird,” he says, and he sounds strangely happy about it.

Yifan rolls his eyes. “Says the guy drawing on my hand,” he replies and hopes Yixing can’t tell how his throat feels too thick to really speak. “I think you’ve got it backwards.”

Yixing only laughs again, and takes to tracing the character for _weird_ into Yifan’s hand over and over again, and Yifan, looking over at him, at the small curve of his lips and the brightness of his eyes, at the way his soft touch sets his skin aflame, starts to feel like his heart is bursting.

A realization, one that Yifan has been irrefutably repressing, finally dawns.

* * *

They’re in Thailand for three days and almost every single minute of those 72 hours seems to be scheduled into appearances and events. Yifan loves it, he does. Loves being able to be so close to the fans, loves being with the rest of his band, all twelve members coming together.

Being so busy makes it easier to ignore a revelation he doesn’t want to acknowledge. Being so busy makes it easier to put some space between him and Yixing again. He sticks by Chanyeol when the twelve of them are together, and by Zitao when it’s just the six, and he pretends not to notice Yixing’s contemplative gazes. He pretends none of this bothers him.

He should have expected, though, that he couldn’t hide from Yixing forever. That Yixing would figure him out, and come looking. They’ve known each other for years, now, and Yifan is sure Yixing knows him better than he know himself sometimes. Yixing is the type of person who quietly observes everything around him and if Yifan really didn’t want him to notice, he could’ve tried harder to make everything seem okay.

A part of Yifan wants Yixing to come looking.

He’s supposed to be sharing a room with Zitao during their stay in Thailand, but it doesn’t surprise him to come out from the shower on their last night to find Yixing sitting on Zitao’s bed, a book that Yifan brought with him open on his lap.

Yifan pauses at the foot of the bed and Yixing looks up at him with a smile. “This isn’t your room,” he says unnecessarily and Yixing’s smile widens. It draws out his dimple and Yifan squashes down on the thought of how cute it is. He turns away instead, ruffles his hair with his towel and looks for a shirt to throw on with the cut-off sweats he’s already wearing.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Yixing says and Yifan can feel the weight of his eyes on his back as he moves across the room. “You’ve been acting weird, these few days. Are you okay?”

Yifan shrugs, tosses his towel onto the back of the armchair in the corner of the room and flops down onto his bed. He turns his back to Yixing and tries to keep his voice steady when he replies, “Yeah. I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.”

Yixing is quiet for long enough that Yifan starts to feel uncomfortable. “You’re lying,” he says, eventually. “You think I can’t tell you’re lying? I’ve known you for years, and I’m not nearly as oblivious as I might look.”

“I know that,” Yifan insists, and he does. “But, it’s nothing. Really. Just drop it.”

For a moment he hears nothing but silence, and then the soft creaks of the bed as Yixing seems to move, and Yifan thinks, perhaps, that Yixing really will just leave it alone. But instead of Yixing leaving like he expected, he feels the side of his own bed dip with Yixing’s undoubted weight, and Yifan tenses slightly, opening his mouth to tell him off when the warm, familiar heat of Yixing’s hand presses against his back and his words die on the tip of his tongue.

“Something’s wrong,” Yixing says and his voice is as soft as the slow brushes of his fingertips across Yifan’s back, so warm through the thin material of his shirt. “Something’s been wrong for awhile. You can’t tell me?”

Not when it’s about you, Yifan thinks, clenches his eyes shut tight. He sighs as the tension slowly eases from his body, Yixing’s fingers trailing up to his shoulders. He presses them into the muscles, gently massaging, and it feels nice. It feels really nice.

“Are you doing this on purpose to make me relax so I’ll tell you what’s wrong?” Yifan asks, his words slightly muffled into the crook of his arms as he rolls onto his stomach and gives Yixing more space.

“Maybe,” Yixing says and Yifan can hear the smile in his voice. “Is it working?”

Yixing’s fingers trace in circles across this back, down from his shoulders and then up again, a nonsensical pattern that is just as warm as when he presses his fingers to his skin as they ride in the van to their next event, just as soothing as when he took Yifan’s hand before a show and drew good luck into his palm, just as soft as the brushstrokes he’d drawn across his face during a photoshoot not long ago.

Yifan’s heart beats faster just thinking about it.

Yifan squeezes his eyes tighter, doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know how to answer when everything that is wrong is everything that seems so _right_. Yixing’s light touches that leave Yifan feeling hot and tingly long after he’s let go. Yixing’s bright laughter that he hears loud and clear and perfect in his ears like it’s a song set forever on repeat. Yixing’s quiet smiles that he craves to see more and more. Yixing’s soft gazes that he feels on him whenever he’s not looking, warm and reassuring, a reminder that he’s always there.

“Yifan?” Yixing says, concern laced in the corners of his voice, and Yifan bites his lip bottom lip hard, Yixing’s fingers skating down his side, pinky brushing against the heat of his skin where his shirt has ridden up his stomach. It makes him jump, a bit, and Yixing immediately pulls back his hand, and Yifan’s eyes open quickly, his body aching from the loss. “Sorry,” Yixing says, and he shifts to stand up. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want, I just thought--”

Yifan grabs his wrist before he can leave, and Yixing blinks in surprise, stares down at their hands. “It’s okay,” Yifan says, and he tugs him back down to the bed. “I would tell you if I knew how.”

Yixing laughs. “You’re lying again,” he accuses, but he mostly sounds amused. He draws his fingers around in circles down Yifan’s back and it’s strange how it makes Yifan feel calm while at the same time his heart beats faster in his ears. “I thought I said that was pretty pointless.”

“Shut up,” he murmurs half-heartedly, “just...just keep doing that.”

“You...You like it, when I do this, don’t you?” Yixing asks and his voice is barely above a whisper and Yifan is surprised he can hear it at all over the thudding of his heart in his ears. Yixing’s fingers dance across his back, soft and soothing as always, and _yes_ , Yifan likes it, but that, that doesn’t seem to be what Yixing is really asking, although Yifan isn’t entirely sure what else he could possibly mean.

“Is it obvious?” he says and Yixing’s chuckle is warm in his heart.

“Yes, a little,” Yixing says.

Yifan sighs. He closes his eyes, focuses on the way Yixing continues to softly touch him, warm through his shirt, and thinks about how he’d like to have his fingers tracing patterns onto his skin instead. Thinks about how he’s become so used to having Yixing do this that an time that he’s not makes Yifan feel strangely unsettled. “It just, it’s nice,” he says, feeling the need to explain even though he knows that Yixing doesn’t really care knowing the reason. “It feels nice. It reminds me that you’re--”

He quickly cuts himself off, his heart skidding to a halt. The words he almost said ring loud and clear in his ears, and he doesn’t even know where they came from.

_It reminds me that you’re here._

Before Yifan can even berate himself for almost saying something like that aloud, he feels how Yixing’s stopped touching him, hands simply resting on his back and he doesn’t need to turn around to know that he’s wearing that lost, confused expression on his face.

“Reminds you of what?” Yixing says, asking the one question Yifan really, really doesn’t want to answer, doesn’t even know if he _can_ answer.

Eager to just let this go, he says, “Nothing. Just forget I said anything.”

“Yifan,” Yixing says softly, coaxing, and Yifan’s chest tightens at the way his name sounds in his voice, at every possible feeling that he’s tucked away and locked deep into dark crevices of his heart because it’s so much easier to do that than to think about it, to act upon it. But it’s hard, it’s hard keeping it in especially when it seems so interested in coming out, and he can’t deny that there’s something, there, something in the way he feels when he’s around Yixing, when Yixing smiles, or laughs, or takes his hand and draws his name into his palm.

“Yifan?” Yixing says, now sounding slightly concerned, and he pokes the nape of Yifan’s neck with a finger.

Yifan doesn’t even know what compels him to do it, but he turns around, turns and looks at Yixing in a silly white t-shirt with a dinosaur on the front that Yifan has seen a hundred times, his hair slightly unkempt and mace free of make-up, and he’s perfect like this, Yifan thinks, sitting on the bed beside him, he’s perfect. Yifan swallows thickly as he sits up, leaning toward him, and Yixing’s eyes widen a little in surprise, and Yifan wonders what kind of expression is on his face, right now, and if Yixing can see right through him as he usually can.

And he should probably stop now before he does something he’ll regret - they’ll both regret - but he doesn’t think that he can. He stares at Yixing who looks back unwaveringly, and his heart is pounding so hard he’s surprised it hasn’t yet burst through his ribcage, and he leans in and kisses Yixing on the lips. He just kisses him because he doesn’t know what else to do, and all he remembers is how much he wanted to do this before at that photo shoot and how, no matter how desperately he tried, that urge hasn’t left him since then, and how all he wants is to reach out and touch Yixing, too, to trace his fingers along his skin and see if it makes Yixing feel the same way as it’s always done for him.

He expects Yixing to pull away, so when he does Yifan’s stomach falls to his knees and he’s opening his mouth to apologize except he doesn’t get the chance.

“ _Oh_ ,” Yixing says, like Yifan just told him a stupid joke and didn’t fucking kiss him, and Yifan doesn't know what to do when it almost feels like his heart is breaking into two.

But then Yixing curls his fingers into the collar of Yifan’s shirt and Yifan sees the hint of a smirk cross Yixing’s lips before he’s crushing their mouths together again and _oh_.

Yifan kisses back quickly, almost desperately, and he doesn’t even care if that's obvious to Yixing, because it almost seems like YIxing is as eager as he is, fist gripping tightly at Yifan’s shirt and tugging, lips parting for Yifan’s tongue as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss. Yifan heart is _soaring_ , and he doesn’t think he can repress the feeling that’s threatening to burst inside of him. All he can do is slide a hand along Yixing’s face, thumb brushing along his cheekbone before sliding into his hair, rubbing a soft spot behind his ear, and Yixing’s soft sigh makes Yifan tremble.

"Yixing," Yifan sighs, breathing heavily against Yixing's lips, and Yixing laughs, that soft, pleasant laughter that Yifan loves. Right now it's reassuring, that maybe, just maybe this is okay, that if he kissed Yixing again, he wouldn't pull away.

So he does, and it's perfect, it's everything he wanted and yet nothing like anything he dreamed. His lips are smooth and pliant under his searching tongue, and he pulls Yixing close to him with his palm pressed against the warmth of the back of his neck.

The position is slightly awkward, and Yixing breaks the kiss to push Yifan into his back upon the bed and Yifan only has a moment to spare surprise as Yixing straddles his hips and catches his mouth again. His hands now automatically find his slender waist, and Yixing shifts ever so slightly but it's enough to stir arousal in the pit of his belly, and he's amazed at feeling Yixing's own pleasure between his legs.

"You--" he says, awed, and Yixing rolls his eyes.

"You're so slow, duizhang," he says, and Yifan can only guess what he means because he chooses that moment to swiftly pull Yifan's shirt over his hand. He hears it knock down some face products that he'd left on the table in the corner but he doesn't care because Yixing is trailing his fingers down his chest the same way he'd done earlier along his back except it's _so_ much better like this when it's skin to skin.

He gasps and his hips move instinctively upward and Yixing grins widely as he looks up at his face. "You really _do_ like this, huh," he says, and it's not a question because it's obvious.

“Shut up,” Yifan huffs, feeling heat rise in his cheeks, and Yixing laughs delightedly, sweeps in to kiss him again. And this is something that Yifan can do, something he doesn’t have to think too hard about, just the slickness of Yixing’s lips and the heat of his tongue, and the way his fingers brush over his nipples and draws out a moan. He feels Yixing smile into their kiss, and he draws patterns onto Yifan’s skin like always except Yifan can’t tell one bit what it is now, not with his mind clouded from Yixing’s touch and taste and the simple knowledge that this is actually happening.

He slips his hands beneath Yixing’s shirt, finally touching him like he’s wanted for who knows how long, and he feels Yixing shudder against him, the pull of his stomach as Yifan trails his fingers along his abs. Yixing’s breath is hot on his jaw as he breaks their kiss to gasp, and he kisses his way down Yifan’s neck, lips leaving a hot wet path that makes Yifan’s skin burn.

“Oh god,” he breathes as Yixing’s mouth encloses around a nipple and his tongue flicks against it, and Yifan groans so loudly he’s not sure Jongdae and Minseok in the room next to them didn’t hear it. Yixing smirks against his skin, and he’s licking his way across Yifan’s chest to do the same to the other, and Yifan is quite sure he might just die from this.

His hips rock up against Yixing, and this time they both moan, thick erections rubbing together through their pants, and all Yifan wants right now is to feel that again without any clothes in the way. Yixing seems to have the same idea because he’s pulling back to yank his shirt over his head, and Yifan swallow as he drinks in the sight of beautiful pale skin. Yixing, though, doesn’t give him too much time to stare, pulling down Yifan’s sweats and underwear, and Yifan’s eyes roll back as Yixing fists a hand around him and tugs.

“Shit,” he mutters, and Yixing is looking up at him from under his bangs, eyes so incredibly intense it’s like he’s drinking up the sight of Yifan, coming apart because of him, and that thought is enough to have Yifan shift his hips up into Yixing’s hand for more.

“Is it okay?” Yixing asks suddenly, and his mouth is on Yifan’s hipbone, sucking a spot into his skin, and Yifan wants to hate how much the idea of Yixing marking him like this turns him on, but he can’t, because fuck, he loves it.

“You already have your hand on my dick so, yes, it’s okay,” Yifan rasps, looking at Yixing like he’s insane, and Yixing just smiles pleasantly back up at him.

“Okay,” he says, and then his mouth is on Yifan’s cock, and Yifan moan feels like it’s torn out of him.

Yifan's hands find their way up into Yixing's hair, holding on tight as Yixing's lips wrap around the base of his cock and slowly works back up. His tongue is hot and wet and amazing, and Yifan feels his arousal coiling impossibly tight that he's surprised he hasn't yet burst. He tries to hold it back but it's too much, the slick sounds of Yixing's mouth, the gently circles his thumbs makes into his hips as he holds him down, the darkness of his gaze as he stares up at Yifan, almost demanding his attention though Yifan doesn't think he could ever look away.

He comes like that, hard into Yixing's mouth that works to swallow him down, and Yifan shudders and gasps and he doesn't think anything will ever compare to this.

Yixing pulls back, licking his lips obscenely, and Yifan tugs him down into a kiss that's ten times fiercer than before. Yixing is hard above him, rubbing against his hip, and _god_ Yifan wants so much more.

"I want to fuck you," Yixing breathes into his ears, and _fuck, yes_ , Yifan wants that, too. "But I don't think either of us were prepared for that."

Shit, he has a point, and Yifan regrets that they're not in their dorm back home. Yixing moans softly, as he rocks his hips again, and he seems really close, sucking his lower lip into his mouth. Yifan laughs breathlessly, "I don't think you'd last much longer anyway."

"Probably not," Yixing says, and his breath tickles Yifan’s collarbone. "I've wanted this for so long."

Yifan's heart jumps a beat at that, but he doesn't get a chance to say anything because Yixing is gasping his name like a whine, and Yifan reacts to that instinctively.

“Here, let me,” he says, pushes a hand down the front of Yixing’s pants and grasps his dick.

The sound Yixing makes is almost enough to have Yifan going again, and he strokes him faster, kisses him deeper, and tries not to let Yixing's wandering hands distract him. It's like he can't stop touching him, fingers roaming along his chest, drawing those same nonsensical patterns into the skin, and Yifan really can't have enough of this, he thinks.

"Come for me," he says into Yixing's ear, and Yixing grips his arm, nails digging into the skin, and he does, keening into Yifan's embrace with a soft moan that Yifan is sure he'll never forget.

The silence afterward is surprisingly comfortable, Yixing claiming his lips chastely before sliding off the bes. Yifan watches him disappear into the bathroom and then return with some tissues to clean them off, and Yifan can't look away from him even if he wanted to.

"What?" Yixing questions, after tossing the tissues into the trash and catching Yifan's stare.  
Yifan shakes his head, because he still doesn't know how to put all his feelings into words, words that make sense, words that are more than just _I think I love you_ , but he wants Yixing to know so badly, because after this it doesn't seem so impossible that Yixing might just love him back.

"Nothing," he says in the end, and pulls Yixing into bed with him again, and Yixing fits with him perfectly, small hand intertwining with his own as the other traces over the silly tattoo on his arm. "Just, this is..."

"It's good, right?" Yixing asks softly and _god_ it's so much more than just good but Yifan just nods, replies, "Yeah, it's good."

"Good," Yixing says, and kisses him, and no, it's not good, it's _perfect_.

* * *

On the flight back to Korea the next day, Yixing trades spots with Chanyeol and sits beside Yifan on the plane. He smiles warmly at him, all soft eyes, and cute dimple, and Yifan wants to kiss him, wishes he could kiss him, and uses all his willpower to keep his expression cool.

Yixing rests his head on his shoulder, takes his hand in his and sets them on his knee, turning Yifan’s hand so his palm faces up. His breath is warm against Yifan’s shoulder as he slowly draws circles into his skin.

"You're so weird," Yifan can't help but say and Yixing chuckles happily.

"You like it," Yixing replies, and Yifan's not sure if he means Yixing's weirdness or the gentle touch of his fingers that he's craved since last night. Either way it's true, because Yifan likes everything about Yixing, and as Yixing draws the character for _love_ into his palm over, and over, Yifan knows that this is everything that he'll ever need.

He grasps Yixing’s hand, heart thumping in his ears, and traces the same character back into Yixing’s palm, his skin so soft under his fingertips. "Me, too," Yifan says, and presses their palms together.


End file.
